It Must Have Been the Mistletoe
by samslostshoe
Summary: it only took one kiss to know / it must have been the mistletoe - A gift for queeniebroccoli on tumblr. Sorry it's taken so long for you to get it, love. Hope you had a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.


Cas tugs at the collar of his sweater nervously, swallowing with a dry throat. He has always hated social gatherings.

It isn't like he doesn't know anyone. His siblings are here, of course. Cas spies Anna in the corner, chatting with a group of girls about her age. Gabriel is hanging around the desserts table, entertaining a group of children with minor magic tricks, for which he's developed an affinity of late; Cas watches one of the children giggle when Gabe pulls fake flowers out of his sleeve. Michael is standing, stoically, in a group of people slightly older than him, looking severe and haughty. Cas's father, Chuck, is also present, smiling thinly as a very enthusiastic blonde chats to him, presumably about his novels, waving what appears to be #12: Route 666 in his face. Cas can hear her screechy praise even from across the room.

He wishes he could blend into the wallpaper. It would be infinitely preferable to standing against the wall, drink in hand, trying to simultaneously be noticed and to prevent people from speaking to him. He glances rather embarrassedly at his sweater, which has a crocheted Rudolph and red text saying Happy Holidays!, Rudolph's bedazzled nose gleaming in the warm light cast by the chandeliers. Cas feels like an idiot.

His dad had laid this ridiculous sweater out on his bed, with a scribbled note saying, "Merry Christmas, hope you like it!" Cas tries, he really does, to make his dad happy, even if it means wearing silly things. He's slightly regretting this particular decision though.

"Hey there, sexy," Meg says as she leans against the wall beside him. "How're you liking the party?"

Meg is the daughter of Cas's father's publisher, Mr. Crowley, whose party they are currently attending. She and Cas have been friends for a long time, and they even dated briefly in their sophomore year of high school. Now, as seniors, that was long behind them; they had been a disastrous couple.

"I'm not enjoying myself very much, to tell the truth," Cas responds, glancing over at her.

She smiles ruefully. "Never been much of a people person, have you, Clarence?"

He grins at her.

Cas chats with Meg for a while, before her sisters Ruby and Lilith pull her away to talk to other guests. Meg goes reluctantly, pouting in Cas's direction as she's led off. When she leaves, he decides to get some fresh air. It's boundlessly more desirable than being reduced to standing awkwardly on his own again. He slips quietly around the fringes of the party, blending in despite his absurd attire. Cas has always been good at going unnoticed, a handy skill to have when people have made fun of you for various abnormal aspects of your personality since the first grade. Cas has never had many friends because he is so other. He has difficulty in normal social situations, as he cannot seem to pick up on standard social cues. He has little to no knowledge of pop culture, and therefore is generally completely lost in any given conversation with any of his peers. And he speaks, as Meg puts it, "like an eighty year old professor at Oxford."

Cas ascends a staircase to the next floor; he has a vague memory of a balcony being up there from last year's party. The house is grand and old, but it has a sterile sort of cleanliness that makes Cas uneasy.

He finds the balcony and slips onto it, walking to the railing and leaning against it, breathing in the chilly winter air. He feels so much more relaxed out here.

It is perfectly silent and still. Snow blankets the streets, and Christmas lights twinkle in windows. Cas spots a snowman in front of a house across the way; as he watches, one of its arms droops and then falls off completely. He chuckles.

Cas doesn't know how long he's been outside when he hears a voice from behind him.

"Oh, um, guess this one's taken. I'll find another."

Cas turns to see the most beautiful boy he's ever laid eyes on. The boy must be about his age, maybe a year younger. His sandy hair is parted unevenly, and his animated expression is accentuated by bright green eyes, which shine even in the dark of the house's eaves. The boy is standing uncertainly, halfway inside the house, waiting for Cas to respond.

Cas realizes he's passed the usual timeframe for a response when interacting with normal human beings. "No, no," he protests, "it's fine. Stay."

"Thanks," the boy says, flashing Cas a winning smile, which does things to Cas's stomach that make him feel weirdly dizzy.

The boy leans against the rail next to him, glancing over at him sidelong. Cas can feel the boy's eyes on him, roving over his face, his hands, and, unfortunately, his clothes.

The boy chuckles. "Nice sweater."

"It was a gift from my father," Cas protests defensively.

"Yeah, I totally get that," the boy says. When Cas glances over at him quizzically, the boy pulls back the leather jacket he's wearing to reveal a tee shirt with a fat, smiling embroidered santa on it, with sequins on its hat. "My brother got it for me," he says, abashed.

Cas can't help it; he bursts out laughing.

The boy glares at him, pulling the coat back around himself, but Cas can see him smiling ever-so-slightly. They stare out at the street together for a moment in silence.

"I'm Dean, by the way," the boy says, "Dean Winchester."

"Cas."

"Cas," Dean says, rolling the sound around on his tongue.

Another moment of silence.

Dean says, suddenly, "Anyone ever told you that you've got awesome eyes?"

Cas turns to him, surprised. "No, I don't believe so."

"Well," Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck and blushing, "uh, you do."

Cas feels flustered, and at first he cannot seem to make his mouth form words. After a few minutes of red-faced silence, he says, "Thank you." And then, "You do as well. Green." Cas has never felt so inarticulate in his life.

Dean glances away in embarrassment, looking up. "Hey," he says, pointing to the tree whose branches stretch over the balcony, upon which an inconspicuous green plant is situated. "Mistletoe."

"That's," Cas hesitates, but he can't stop in the middle of his sentence, "quite serendipitous, really."

Dean turns to look back at him, grinning now, full of bravado. "Oh yeah?" he asks, but behind his false bluster it seems to Cas that he's got a kind of genuine tenderness and hope.

They're facing each other now, and Dean's eyes are focused ardently on Cas's face, flicking from his eyes to his hair and settling on his lips. Dean steps forward, as though in a trance, until they are standing just inches away from each other.

"May I?" Dean asks.

In answer to his question, Cas closes the small distance between them and presses his lips to Dean's. The kiss is like it's always described in the badly-written romance novels that Meg has an affinity for: electric and passionate. For a kiss shared between near-strangers, it's surprisingly intimate.

Dean pulls back first, laughing. His breath creates a puff of misty white.

Cas feels dazed. "Sorry," he says, unthinkingly.

"Sorry?" Dean asks incredulously. "You crazy? That was awesome. A little YA Romance never hurt anyone."

Cas looks at him in confusion and Dean laughs again, and then shivers. "Christ, it's cold. You wanna get out of here?"

Cas most certainly does.


End file.
